


Ever More

by scarlettwriter11



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Catholic school AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-10-06
Packaged: 2017-12-26 18:25:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarlettwriter11/pseuds/scarlettwriter11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't particularly like Castiel. Actually, he thinks he's a stuck up Catholic school kid with fucked up siblings. Castiel on the other hand doesn't mind him. Well, he does get under his skin at times but for some reason he can overlook that. And in the end, they find themselves drawn to each other in ways they would have never fathomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I can see angel walking

 

_I can see an angel walking_

 

It’s wasn’t the best party Dean had ever been to. There was booze and chicks and the music wasn’t half bad (actually it sucked but Dean was too drunk to really care at that point). There was just something missing. He couldn’t really put his finger on it, probably because he was plastered. Something was missing and it niggled away in the back of Dean’s alcohol fogged brain, like that annoying tickle in the back of your throat you sometimes get, and no matter how hard you cough or how many glasses of water you drink, it just doesn’t seem to want to go away. But Dean was having a good time, despite the annoying tickle.

The house they were in was kind of a shithole. No, it wasn’t kind of a shithole, it _was_ a shithole. It had a derelict feeling to it, the walls streaked with brown water stains and dotted with black mold. The carpet wasn’t really a carpet anymore, but more like a slightly damp, dirty sponge, greyish brown in color and with questioning dark red stains dotting it here and there, especially in the living room. The aroma of rodent feces was faintly detectable, but it was overpowered by the throat-clogging scent of weed that hung in the air. But when you’re as drunk as Dean and everyone else, these were minor details. In fact, it was probably the reason why everyone, especially Dean, got drunk in such a record time; to distract from filth around them. The only good thing about throwing a party in such a disgusting place is that a) nobody would care (or notice) if it got trashed and b) it was in a part of town that was practically abandoned. Actually, Dean wasn’t even exactly sure if anybody owned it. All he knew, or cared about, was the fact that there was enough alcohol to drown himself in and it was _free_.

The finest of the worst were assembled there from high schools all around the area. You had the Redford cheerleaders and their gaggle of girls, a dazzling array of ‘daddy issues’ and lightweight titles. The Newman football players with their crew, more known for their prowess on the beer pong table than on the football field. You could thank the weed smell to Dylan Academy’s assortment of stoners, from their daring and dumb freshmen to the jaded and fried seniors. Truman, Dean’s school, made up about half of the attendees. They just contributed most of the noise and dancing, if you could call it that. The ‘dance floor’ was the living room and it was mainly compiled of drunk teenagers grinding sloppily up against each other. Dean found himself leaning up against the wall near the fireplace, his sixth beer in hand, grinning stupidly at this spectacle.

“You gunna join in?” Ash said, appearing next to him. He took a swig of his beer and let out an impressive burp. Dean smirked.

“Nah, you?”

“Hell yeah, I got my eye on _that_ sweet little thing,” Ash pointed to a pretty brunette with red lipstick and a crop top dancing in the middle of the fray. “Gotta go.”

“Good luck.” Dean slurred as Ash smoothly slid his way through the mass of sweaty teens towards the girl. Dean watched as Ash wrapped his arms around the the girl’s waist, only to get slapped by a red-polished hand. Dean snorted into his beer just as a cute blond passed him, looking over her shoulder. She gave him a coy smile then made her way towards the closet near the front door. Dean absently set his beer on the fireplace mantle and followed her, eyeing the way she swayed her hips and tossed her hair. He’d seen her before, Amy something or other. Popular at Truman, always traveled around with a pack of high-pitch voiced girls with the same hairstyle and smile. She opened the closet door and smiled at Dean again. Dean licked his lips and was about to enter when a person’s shoulder collided with his, hard, and he was thrown to the ground.

“What the…” Dean mumbled, trying to get to his feet but found he was having trouble. He couldn’t move his legs and he momentarily panicked, only to discover that someone was laying on top of them. One of the football players from Newman loomed over the person on Dean’s legs, a guy in a beige trench coat Dean finally managed to realize. The football player cracked his knuckles a few times, his mouth slightly hanging slack.

“You shouldn’t be here Novak, what would big brother say?” The guy on Dean’s legs tried to get to his feet but the football player shoved him down again, forcing Dean onto his side again. Agatha, or whatever the hell her name was, still stood in the closet, looking pointedly at Dean.

“What the fuck is your deal man?” Dean said, finally managing to slide his legs out from under the trench coat kid and stumble to his feet. He was way too drunk for this shit, but he stepped forward anyways towards the football player, adjusting his leather jacket. He was just as tall as him, maybe taller. He wasn’t quite as filled out as him, but that meant that Dean would be faster. Maybe. They were both pretty drunk.

“Wha, what?” Football Player slurred blinking in surprise. “You gunna stand up for this guy?” Dean glanced down at trench coat kid. He stared back up, bewildered.

“No, but I am going to kick your ass for knocking him into me.” The football player laughed and shook head.

“Get the fuck out of the way,” He tried to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder push him out the way but Dean was too quick for him. He grabbed his wrist and shoved him back, making him stumble back a little. Confusion turned slowly into anger on the footballer’s face and Dean grinned and squared his shoulders, ready to throw down. This is what had been missing; a good fight to get Dean’s blood going.

“Hey!” someone said to his right and he glanced over to see who it was, a mistake because he got clocked squarely in the left side of his face and before he hit the floor, a sick wave washed over him and then his vision faded to black, out cold.

He felt nauseous as he slowly blinked awake.

“Are you alright?” A gruff voice said to his right. Dean groaned and looked around him and noticed feet rushing past him all in the same direction. He went to sit up to see what was happening, but the action caused a wave of nausea to come over him and he keeled over and puked all over what looked like dirty running shoes.

“Perfect.” said the voice again and Dean felt a strong hand grip his underarm, another one on his left shoulder to steady him as was lifted up to his feet. Dean staggered, putting all his weight on the solid frame holding him up.

“I don’t feel so good.” Dean garbled, burping.

“My shoes can tell. Come on, let’s you get you out of here.” He was then guided towards the front door, the same direction everyone else was headed.

“Hey, where’s everyone going? Party’s just started!” Dean said, raising his left arm, but found that any sudden movement made him feel sick so he just leaned against whoever was helping him outside. Who _was_ helping him? He looked over and recognized the guy in the trench coat. He had a stern, focused face as he navigated himself and Dean down the front porch and towards the street. His hair was a dark brown, sticking up in a rather boyish fashion. He looked to be Dean’s age, but then again, his serious face made him look older so Dean wasn’t too sure.

“Who’re you?” Dean asked after much effort.

“Castiel,” Dean started giggling and Castiel gave him a questioning look. “What?”

“S’funny name,” Dean replied, blinking slowly, his grin even more stupid than before. Castiel rolled his eyes and continued on walking. His grip was strong on Dean’s arm and shoulder, it hurt actually. Dean squirmed and tried to push Castiel away. “Where’re you taking me?” Dean growled, but during his struggles didn’t see the curb and fell to his knees.

“I’m taking you home.” Castiel grunted, hoisting him to his feet once more. Dean’s brows furrowed.

“I’m not going home with you.” Another eye roll from Castiel.

“I’m not taking you home with me. I’m taking you to your house. Where do you live?” But Dean wasn’t paying any attention. He spotted the blond girl from the closet across the street and he was trying to make his way towards her.

“Hey!” Dean called waving his arm. She looked up and Dean tried to take a step towards her but ended up puking again all over the curbside. He really didn’t feel good and he was starting to get tired. “I think,” he started, leaning heavily on Castiel. “I think I’m going to go to sleep.” He started to close his eyes but was rewarded with a sharp poke his side from Castiel.

“Stay with me until we get to the car.”

“Where’s Ash? He’s supposed to drive me.” Dean said indignantly.

“Not here. Come on,” Castiel said as they made their way slowly down the street. Dean couldn’t really walk so he kind of dragged his feet while his right arm was draped over Castiel’s shoulders, his other hanging uselessly at his side. His limbs felt heavy and detached, almost numb, but his insides felt shriveled and dry and hurt. His mouth tasted disgusting and almost made him want to puke again, so he just sucked in the cold night air and held the urge in.

“What’s your name?” Castiel asked after a few minutes of staggered walking. His breathing was getting heavy and uneven and he was struggling to keep Dean upright.

“Dean.”

“Dean, can you tell me where you live?” They were approaching a silver BMW that Castiel leaned Dean up against to pull out a set of keys from his trench coat.

“Why do you wear that thing? Makes you look like a pedophile.” Dean said, fighting to keep his head up. Castiel didn’t say anything to that and gave him an unamused look.

“Where do you live?” Castiel asked again, unlocking the front passenger door.

“I don’t like you,” Dean stated as Castiel helped him into the front seat. He heard Castiel sigh as he reached across Dean to buckle his seatbelt. “I can buckle my own seatbelt!” Dean said, trying to push Castiel away, but feebly so. Castiel ignored him and clicked the belt in place. He was really close to Dean, he could feel him breathing on his chest. Castiel pushed himself out of the car and shut the door. Dean leaned against the door and stared out the windshield. This was a nice place to fall asleep…

“Hey!” Dean jerked awake and looked around to see Castiel was now in the driver’s seat, buckling his own seatbelt. “You still haven’t told me where you live.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “Why?” Castiel looked like he was fighting every urge to throttle Dean.

“Because,” he said deliberately. “I’m taking you home.”

“Oh,” Dean said again and he saw Castiel roll his eyes again. “My brother does that a lot. You’d probably like him. He likes bossing me around too.” Dean said, grinning. Castiel sighed and turned to start the car. When it sputtered to life, Castiel looked into all of his mirrors, adjusted them a few times, then cautiously rolled out of the parking spot.

“You’re a weird driver,” Dean said, folding his arms across his chest and settled back into his seat more. He started to close his eyes but got another painful poke in his side. He grunted in pain. “ _What?_ ”

“Where do you live?”

“42 Leeman Drive. You want my social too?” Dean grumbled.

“I doubt you could remember it right now even if you tried.”

“652-”

“No, don’t tell me,” Castiel cut in, his eyes staying focused on the road. He seemed nervous behind the wheel, like he didn’t belong there. “That’s on the other side of town, right? By Truman?”

“Yep.” Dean was starting to get really, _really_ tired. He was struggling to keep his eyes open and the car was so warm, so Dean just leaned against the window and closed his eyes.

“Well, this turned out to be an adventure,” Castiel muttered sarcastically. Dean didn’t reply. “Dean?”

 

* * *

 

“Dean?” Castiel asked again, sparing a glance to look over at the slumped figure in his passenger seat. Dean was fast asleep, his breathing already deep. His mouth was hanging open slightly and his nose twitched once, but other than that, Dean was still and completely lost to the world. Castiel rolled his eyes and continued driving down the dark, trash littered road warily. What a night this had turned out to be.

He’d heard about the party through Gabriel. He had never actually planned on going but then there was the whole thing with Michael and Castiel decided to go to spite his older brother. Boy had that been a mistake. When he entered the house, a filthy place that he could hardly believe was still standing, he was greeted by Tom Brighton, a football player from Newman who hated his brother because, well, actually, Castiel had no idea why he hated his brother. He just did. Castiel guessed there was some history between them that was never made know to Castiel. But that’s beside the point. Tom Brighton hated his brother Michael, and therefore hated all of the Novak family. He had entered the house and Tom was there and he instantly recognized Castiel, despite his inebriated state, and decided that Castiel didn’t belong there. And the rest was history. And now he was stuck with some drunk guy who had puked all over his shoes. _My good running shoes too_ , Castiel thought, trying to ignore the smell that wafted up from his feet.

He glanced over at Dean again. He noticed his jaw was red and blotchy where Brighton had punched him. Castiel had been kind of surprised when Dean stepped in between him and the beefy football player. Even more surprised when Dean said he was going to kick Brighton’s ass. Shocked really. But then again, he was drunk. Confidence and stupidity levels seem to be synced when that intoxicated. He wasn’t _too_ surprised when he knocked Dean out. And then someone said the cops were coming and everyone ran out the door as fast as their drunken feet could carry them and Castiel decided he couldn’t leave the poor guy passed out on the floor. Castiel was kind of regretting that decision now as he drove through dark, unfamiliar streets.

Dean moved a bit in his seat, raising his hand to rub his nose noisily. Castiel had felt like he had seen him before. Not at school, certainly not at school. Guy’s like him didn’t go to St. Francis. No, not school. It had to have been at some sporting event or something. Either way, Dean’s face was familiar.

The lights were a little brighter and the buildings newer and more inviting looking the more Castiel drove. Things were starting to look more familiar now and Castiel sighed in relief. He never ever wanted to go to a party in that part of town ever again. Although he doubted he’d make anymore appearances parties this year. They weren’t really his thing, all that chaos and drunken behavior. He shuddered to think what his father would think if he discovered that Castiel had been to a place like that, full of sin and unfaithful servants. And the only way his father would find out is if Michael told him. Castiel shouldn’t have even gone out in the first place. Michael was bound to find out somehow.

Dean moved suddenly, his eyes snapping open, wide and alarmed.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel asked as Dean fumbled for something on the door. Castiel realized he was trying to roll down the window and Castiel quickly pulled over and Dean launched himself out of the car and puked hard. Castiel was surprised he still had anything left to throw up. He turned the car off and put the parking brake on before rummaging in his backseat for something. It was a bit of mess, dirty running shorts and socks and burger wrappers scattered the seat and floor, but Castiel managed to find what he was looking for. A full, unopened water bottle.

As he got out of the car, he could still hear Dean heaving. When he got to the other side, Dean was still on his hands and knees in the dirt, dry heaving. As much as Castiel was grossed out, he knelt down beside Dean and handed him the water bottle. Dean grabbed it, took one sip, then started heaving again. Castiel was contemplating on whether or not to pat Dean on the back or perform some other form of comforting act when Dean spoke.

“Why’re you doing this?” Dean rasped, breathing heavily.

“What do you mean?” Dean looked at him out of the corner of his eye. He seemed a little less drunk, because his eyes were more focused, less glazed over.

“Why are you helping me?” Why was he helping him? _Because it’s the right thing to do_ , Castiel reasoned in his head. No, that wasn’t it. Well, yes, that was partially the reason. But there was something else. Why was Castiel helping this boy, this drunk, ungrateful, pathetic teenager whose idea of fun was getting wasted in a disgusting house with other stupid, drunk teenagers? His mind wandered back to Tom Brighton. He admitted he was a little frightened of him. He made him think of Michael and why he was there in the first place and that frightened him even more and then Dean stepped in and faced Tom head on and somewhere in the back of his mind Castiel thought he was standing up to Michael. Was that why he was helping him? Because he was stupid enough to stand up to Michael? _What are you talking about Castiel he’s probably even never met Michael._ Why though?

“I don’t know.” Castiel frowned. Dean coughed and shook his head.

“You’re weird.”

“Let’s get back in the car, shall we? Or perhaps you’d like to vomit some more?” Castiel said, standing up, holding out his hand. Dean stared at his hand, as if he was trying to decide whether or not it would turn into a snake and bite him. But then he wiped his mouth with the back of hand and took Castiel’s hand. Castiel pulled him to his feet and guided him back to the passenger seat.

“Do you need me to buckle your seatbelt again?” Castiel asked, half-serious. Dean glared at him and buckled his seatbelt forcefully.

“Shut up and take me home.”

“Of course, I live to serve you.”

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up feeling sticky and dry and it didn’t sit well with him. On top of that, his head throbbed with every movement, big or small, he made. His eyes burned and his mouth and throat felt as though they were filled with sand. He coughed and it just made it worse. He looked around and saw that he was in his bedroom, in his own bed. Weird, he didn’t remember going to bed. Or even coming home. An empty water bottle sat on his bedside table and Dean wondered how it got there because he was pretty sure they didn’t have water bottles in the house. He tried to get up, but the motion made his head swim and throb all at once and he thought he was going to be sick. He sat on the edge of his bed, eyes squeezed shut, fists clenched tightly on his legs until the feeling passed.

_What the fuck happened last night?_ Dean thought. Then it started to come back to him piece by piece. He remembered blond hair and a letterman's jacket and then his jaw started to ache and he gingerly touched the left side of his face and found that felt kinda puffy. He slowly got up and shuffled his way to the bathroom where he examined his face.

First off, he looked like shit. Not just because he had an angry, purple bruise along his jawline, but he was pale and sickly looking. His eyes looked sunken and bloodshot and hair was matted with sweat. He lifted up the collar of his t-shirt and found that it smelt like puke, which in turn made him keel over the toilet and vomit water.

“You’re up early.” Sam said as Dean finished, feeling worse than he did before.

“What time is it?” Dean coughed.

“One.”

“In the morning?”

“Nope.”

“ _The afternoon?_ ”

“Yep.” Dean groaned and dug his palms into his eyes, but stopped when it felt like he was rubbing hot sand in them.

“That’s not fucking early.” Dean grunted, using the counter to stand himself up.

“It’s called a joke.”

“Well it ain’t funny.”

“Yeah, well, neither is waking up in the middle of the night to find some stranger on your doorstep with your drunk, passed out brother.” Sam’s voice was steel. Dean finally met his brother’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. His arms were crossed and his face faintly resembled their dad’s when he was disappointed.

“Sam, let me-”

“Dad’s going to be home in a couple of hours. You should probably clean yourself up. You reek.”    

 


	2. Someone else is by his side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is a mischievous bastard. Castiel wants to watch as Dean changes his oil. Literally.

_Someone else is by his side_

 

The hot shower felt so good it actually made Dean shiver. He stood hunched under the stream and let it numb him, physically and mentally. He half hoped that if he stood under it long enough, it would waterlog his brain and he wouldn’t have to think about how mad Sam was at him, or how sick he felt, or how angry John was going to be when he found out that Dean had left Sam alone to go out and party.

 _“Yeah, well neither is waking up in the middle of the night to find some stranger on your doorstep with your drunk, passed out brother.”_ Those words stung more than his eyes, punched harder than that damn football player. They were more gut-wrenching than dry heaving and Dean hated himself for it. He’d have to fix it somehow, there was no denying that, but right now, Dean just wanted to drown himself in the shower. Or at least stay in long enough until he didn’t smell like puke and stale sweat.

While he was brushing his teeth, Dean contemplated burning his clothes. They were covered in his own vomit and sweat and Dean wasn’t sure he would be able to stomach picking them up again to wash them. He spat toothpaste and rinsed his mouth out before taking a deep breath and putting the collar of his clean shirt over his nose and mouth before picking up his filthy clothes from the bathroom floor. He practically ran to the washing machine where threw them in as hard he could before taking a few cautious steps back.

 _Well, might as well do a whole load._ He ambled back to his room and started digging out darks from his laundry hamper and sorting them into a pile on his floor.

“What are you doing?” Sam said from his doorway. Dean paused momentarily, glancing up quickly to look at his brother. He still looked mad, but he was talking to him so that had to have been a good sign, right?

“Getting clothes together to do a load. You need any darks washed?” Dean asked as he gathered up his pile. He and Sam had a little stare down in the doorway of Dean’s room for a moment, considering each other. Sam sighed and turned to go into his room which was right across from Dean’s.

“Yeah, lemme check.” When he was gone, Dean let out a shaky breath in relief.

Dean heard Sam clomp his way down to the basement as he tossed a pair of socks into the washer.

“You’re supposed to separate the socks when you wash them,” Sam said impatiently as he dropped his pile at Dean’s feet. “Here.”

“I got it!” Dean said, shoving Sam’s hand away as he reached for the socks. Sam rolled his eyes and shoved Dean back. Dean smirked, picking up Sam’s clothes and piling them in the washer. “Did you separate your socks?” Dean said mockingly. Sam grabbed one lone sock from the washer and threw it at Dean’s head. “Hey!”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

 

* * *

 

“Castiel dear, are you feeling alright, you don’t look so good.” Castiel jerked his head up to stare up at his mother who was watching him with worried eyes across the table. Gabriel stopped pouring unhealthy amounts of syrup on his pancakes to look up as well.

“Uh, yes mother, I’m fine, just tired.” Castiel replied and picked up his knife and fork to start cutting into his pancakes.

“Did you not sleep well last night?” His mother persisted, setting her down her own fork and knife.

“Yeah Castiel, how _did_ you sleep last night?” Gabriel said before putting a syrup soaked bite of pancake in his mouth, eyebrows raised knowingly. Castiel glared at him.

“Castiel?” The two turned back to their mother whose voice had turned from worried to stern. Castiel cleared his throat and shook his head.

“Mother I’m fine.” Her eyes narrowed slightly and made Castiel squirm until he felt a sharp pain on his shin. He winced slightly and looked to Gabriel who smiled sweetly at him. He had never lied to his mother. He had never lied to anyone. There was never a need to, except for now. He couldn’t tell his mother where he had been. She would tell Michael, who would tell their father and Castiel didn’t want any of those things to happen. Especially after what happened with Michael.

“Castiel-” His mother started when the sharp ring of the phone pulled her away from the table and into the living room to answer it. When she was gone, Gabriel leaned forward, all grins and mischief. He propped himself up with his hand under his chin and zeroed in on Castiel, who frowned at the attention.

“So, how was it?” Gabriel said, taking another bite of his pancakes. Castiel’s frown deepened, his brows furrowed.

“I don’t understand how you can eat your pancakes with that much syrup.” He said gruffly as he resumed the cutting of his own pancakes.

“Come on Castiel, level with me. I _know_ you went. So spill.” Castiel glanced up at his brother whose eyes were alight with greedy curiosity.

“It was horrible, if you must know.” Gabriel rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Oh Castiel, here we go again with your grand exaggerations,” Castiel wrinkled his nose at that. “Be honest, you liked it, didn’t you?”

“No, I did not.”

“Come on, it couldn’t have been that bad!”

“Well it was.”

“How? What happened that was _so horrible_?” Castiel’s glare hardened as he looked at grinning Gabriel.

“Well, first off, Tom Brighton was there.” Castiel said bitterly. Gabriel’s eyes widened before he barked out a laugh.

“Oh man, that sucks. Then what?”

“I don’t understand why you find that to be funny, I-”

“What happened next?!” Gabriel demanded, something close to manic glee in his eyes. Castiel didn’t appreciate how much Gabriel was enjoying this, but he continued.

“He tried to start a fight with me the moment I stepped into the house,” Castiel said, sending Gabriel  into a fit of giggles. “Gabriel, I don’t underst-”

“So what happened after that?” Castiel narrowed his eyes at Gabriel before continuing.

“He pushed me into this boy named Dean, who for some reason, tried to start a fight with Brighton but got knocked out and then someone said the police were coming so I had to get Dean home and-”

“Wait, wait, hold up. You took a random stranger home?” The innuendo in Gabriel’s voice went straight over Castiel’s head.

“Yes? He was severely inebriated. He had puked all over my shoes and could hardly walk on his own. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“So, you took him home?”

“Yes, I don’t understand why you keep asking me that.” Gabriel waved his hand impatiently, irritating Castiel.

“What happened after that? With this, uh, Dean kid. What happened with him?” Castiel’s confusion deepened.

“I, drove him home.” Gabriel’s face was expectant and when Castiel didn’t say anything further he raised his eyebrows even more.

“That’s it?” He asked. Castiel nodded slowly. Gabriel groaned and slumped back in his seat. He stared at Castiel for a moment. “Really? I mean, like, nothing else happened?”

“No. I drove him to his house and then drove home. That’s it.” Gabriel looked displeased with Castiel’s narration. But what else had he expected?

“You didn’t get his number or anything?” A blush washed over Castiel and he frowned angrily.

“No, of course not, why would I get his number…?” Castiel trailed off as Gabriel prior words started to click together in his mind. His blush deepened and made him feel sick. Gabriel grinned, satisfied, for whatever reason. Castiel snapped his attention back to his brother, about to angrily express his displeasure at Gabriel's implications when their mother walked back into the kitchen.

“That was Mrs. Walsh. Apparently, Walter’s gone missing again so if you boys see him running around to let her know right away,” She said, taking her seat at the table once more. “That dog is always running off somewhere, it’s a wonder that he hasn’t been hit by a car, Heaven forbid,” She shook her head and looked up when neither of her sons responded. Castiel’s blush was still firmly in place and Gabriel had a smug look on his face as he dug into his pancakes once more.

“Is something the matter?” She asked, looking between the two. Gabriel looked pointedly to Castiel.

“Yeah Castiel, is something the matter?” Gabriel asked innocently. Castiel had to fight down a strong urge to leap out of  his seat and forcefully pour hot syrup down Gabriel’s throat. He turned back to his mother who was waiting for him to respond.

“No mother, everything is fine,” Castiel said calmly, picking up knife and fork again for appearances. He was no longer hungry. “When exactly did Walter go missing?” His mother stared at him for a moment longer before replying.

“Last night. I’m sure he’ll return though. He usually does and…” Castiel tuned  his mother out as his mind wandered back to what Gabriel had said. _Why did he imply those things? What was he thinking?_ Castiel thought furiously. Gabriel had a talent for getting under his skin and usually Castiel would eventually shake off the unsettling feeling his brother gave him, but this time, he couldn’t stop his mind from endlessly going over his words. Asking if he got his number, inquiring about taking Dean home, all of these implied something that strongly went against the religious teachings that had been ingrained in Castiel his entire life. He couldn’t understand why Gabriel would ask these things, and worst of all, he couldn’t understand why this upset him so. If he had no such intentions towards Dean, then he should be able to brush Gabriel’s words off without a second thought. But he couldn’t. Instead, the idea of getting that stupid drunk boy’s number consumed him and Castiel didn’t know why. And that worried him. To make matters worse, he had lied to his mother and the guilt of that action lay heavily in his stomach and subjected his head to a woozy unstable feeling that he disliked. _What’s wrong with me?_

Castiel finished before his brother and mother and so he asked if he could be excused. When he got to his room, after navigating his way through the mess of clothes on his floor, he fell back heavily on his bedand stared at the ceiling. The thoughts that bounced erratically around his head were maddening. He needed to do something. He couldn't just dwell on Gabriel's words and these confusing feelings that were bubbling up inside him. He knew it wasn't a good idea to jog after eating, but it was the only thing he could think to do that would distract him from the swelling fear rising in him. He was about to pull on his running shoes when a small knock came on his door.

"Castiel dear, may I come in?" Castiel hesitated. "Castiel?"

"Yes mother come in." The door opened and his mother stepped in, her nose crinkling at the mess on Castiel's floor.

"I think it's time you clean this up, don't you?" Castiel shrugged as his mother closed the door behind her.

"It doesn't bother me." Castiel said quietly.

"Were you going to go for a run?" His mother said, nodding to the shoes in his hands. Castiel nodded.

"Did you need me to do anything before I left?" Castiel asked, wary of the way his mother's eyes traveled around his room. He knew it was messy, but he kinda liked it that way. He hoped his mother wouldn't clean it one day while he was at school. She had been known to do that and Castiel didn’t particularly like people being in his room when he wasn’t there.  

"No, I just wanted to know if everything was okay between you and your brother." Castiel frowned slightly.

"Yes mother, Gabriel can be irritating at times, but I can handle-"

"I meant with Michael." Castiel's stomach dropped.

"Oh. Michael."

"I know you and him had a disagreement the other day and I just wanted to make sure you were alright." Castiel looked down at the shoes in his hands.

"I," Castiel paused, thinking over what he wanted to say. "I don't know. It was a lot to take in." His mother sat next to him on his bed and smiled knowingly.

"He just wants what's best for you, that's all." She said, resting a hand on his shoulder. Castiel's frown deepened.

"How does he know what's best for me?" Castiel said in a low voice that made his mother's brow furrow in confusion. Her and Castiel shared the same look of confusion, that same open expression of genuine lack of understanding that bordered on childlike.

"What do you mean?" His mother asked. Castiel sighed and shook his head.

"What Michael wants of me, it's just, I don't know if I can do it."

"Why not? Your father would be very proud." Castiel winced slightly at the mention of his father.

"Would he?" Castiel asked quietly, turning to look at his mother. She smiled softly at him.

"Of  course Castiel, why wouldn't he be?" Castiel shrugged, looking back down at his shoes.

"What if I," Castiel hesitated. "What if I did something else, something that I wanted to do. Would he still be proud of me?" His voice was barely above a whisper. His mother didn't say anything.

"I don't know Castiel, you'll have to ask him," She said carefully. "What is it that you want to do?" Castiel shook his head and proceeded to put his shoes on.

"I don't know mother, that's the problem," He got up when he finished tying them and looked down at his mother who for some reason looked sad. "Is there anything else you wanted to say?" He said as gently as he could. She smiled and shook her head, standing as well.

"No, I think I'll just go and wash the dishes. Have fun on your run sweetheart."

 

Running always calmed Castiel down, that initial struggle at the start, the burn of his muscles, the steady pace he kept as his feet pounded on the pavement or track. He had been on his high school’s track team for four years now, and then three at his middle school. But he had been running long before then.

Lucifer, when he was still in high school, ran on the track team as well. He was number one then, the star runner. He was fast, had perfect stamina, short or long distance, he could do it all. Castiel remembered going to those track meets or the practices to watch him and wishing he could run as fast as his brother. Every morning Lucifer would run before school. Even on Sunday’s, much to their father and Michael’s displeasure. And sometimes, Castiel would join him. Lucifer would always lose him, his stride and pace much longer and faster than Castiel’s. But Castiel continued to run, and soon, he was running every morning with Lucifer. Lucifer would never slow down for him, in fact, he sometimes sped up to lose Castiel purposefully, but after a year or so of doing this, Castiel no longer cared because he found he enjoyed running, even if his brother was faster and better. And when Lucifer left, Castiel continued running, although at first it felt wrong not seeing Lucifer’s familiar figure ahead of him. Michael tried to get Castiel to stop and for a while he did, but after a month or so of not being able to run, he couldn’t stand it anymore. That was around the same time Castiel had decided to join the track team.

He wasn’t the star, not like Lucifer. But he was good, especially at long distance. He could run for miles without stopping. He didn’t care about winning or losing, he just ran because it felt right. The only family members that had come to his meets were Gabriel and his mother, but even then, they rarely came. Not like when Lucifer was on the team. His father, Michael, Gabriel, his mother, sometimes even his aunts and uncles, they would go to nearly every single meet. But Lucifer had been a star, Lucifer had been perfect. Back then, he could do no wrong. And Castiel wasn’t Lucifer.

But Lucifer was gone and Castiel didn’t mind that his family hardly came to see him. It was his thing, and he preferred it that way. He just wanted to run.

Castiel knew he shouldn’t have run on full stomach. He could feel the pancakes sloshing around in his stomach and it made difficult for him to keep his pace. But after a mile or so, his discomfort faded away as he became lost in the run, the steady pound of his heart and feet. He never ran with music, partly because he thought that it was dangerous, but also because he liked to listen to the surrounding sounds of his neighborhood, or if he jogged in town, the bustling of life starting up in the morning. It was starting to get colder and the chill that bit its way down Castiel’s throat in his lungs made him feel alive. He loved running in the cold, especially in the snow. He had to work harder, battle to keep himself warm and it was that struggle that made him feel fiercely happy. And it was a distraction. A distraction from his family and school and whatever else troubled him at the time. This time it was Gabriel’s words and the more he ran, the faster those words trickled away and left him with a blissful numbness of the mind. It was just what he needed.

He was heading back, almost home, when he saw Gabriel leaning against his car, a sucker in his mouth, watching him. He slowed to a stop in front of him, breathing heavily.

“What are you doing out here?” Castiel asked, wiping the sweat on his forehead with the collar of his t-shirt. Gabriel wrinkled his nose in disgust before shrugging.

“Oh, you know, just wanted to see my baby brother.” Gabriel said nonchalantly. Castiel narrowed his eyes at him.

“You saw me at breakfast.” Gabriel shrugged again, but this time, a mischievous smile crept up on his face. Suddenly he clasped Castiel on the shoulder, grinning at him like he had something planned.

“Hey, speaking of your car-”

“We weren’t speaking of my car.”

“You haven’t taken it in in a while, right?” Gabriel asked. Castiel frowned, something he did a lot around Gabriel.

“Taken it in for what?”

“A check up or whatever. You know, like, getting the oil changed and stuff.” Castiel thought about that. It had been a while since he had the oil changed.

“I suppose it’s time to take it again. But, what brought this on?” Gabriel shrugged, but there was a look in his eye that Castiel didn’t like. “What are you planning Gabriel?” Gabriel clutched his chest dramatically and gasped.

"I am just offended that you would think such a thing! Can't I just want the best for my little brother?" Castiel flinched internally at this statement. What was this obsession that his family seemed to have with wanting the best for him?

"Generally speaking, no." Castiel said, making his way toward the house. He wanted to take a long shower and work on some of his homework and Gabriel was impeding his plans.

"Castiel, listen to me-"

"Why?" Castiel demanded, giving Gabriel his full attention which seemed to catch him off guard because his eyes widened in surprise.

"Why? Why what?"

"Why should I listen to you?" Gabriel grinned, clearly over his initial shock.

"Just, trust me, you won't regret it."

"I regretted it the last time." Castiel grumbled. Gabriel dismissed this statement with a wave of his hand.

"That was your own fault. Only you could screw up the simplicities of going to a party," Castiel opened his protest but Gabriel held up a hand. "Ah! Listen. On Monday, take your car in to that little garage by the scrap yard. I guarantee you won't regret it."

"But-"

"Just, do it Castiel. Trust me," The smile on his face made Castiel want to do the exact opposite. "Alright, well, as much as I enjoyed that little chat, I have important business to conduct, so, see ya later little brother." And with that, Gabriel sauntered off down the street, leaving Castiel confused and tired. He decided he would worry about it after his shower.

  

* * *

 

The walk to Truman wasn't very far, maybe twenty minutes at most. But the weather was starting to get colder and Dean could see his breath as he hugged his jacket closer around him. He didn't like the cold, but not nearly as much as Sam who was bundled up in a heavy jacket and gloves. His attempts to tease him were only met with a sullen glare and so Dean left his brother alone as they walked down the cracking sidewalk of their neighborhood. They had only lived here for about five years, the longest they had stayed anywhere. John had dragged them all around the country for most of their lives after their mother had died, driven by grief or a purpose, Dean didn’t know. All he knew was that John trusted him to look after Sam while he was off doing God-knows-what and that’s all Dean cared about. Well, that didn’t mean that his father didn’t create a little pit of worry in Dean’s stomach. But when you’re a little boy with even littler boy to look after, what can you do? The only thing Dean could do was follow his father’s orders and hope he’d always be able to.

Sam was eight and Dean was twelve when John showed them the house they were currently living in. Apparently he’d saved enough money doing whatever it was he did while they traveled around to rent the place out. Before Mary, their mother, had died, John had been a firefighter and so he managed to get a job at the local station in town. And they’d been there ever since.

Dean was never really sure why they had stopped, why John had stopped and decided to settle down. He always figured that he was just tired, but the older Dean got, the more he realized that it had to do something with them, specifically Sam. When they moved in, Sam got to pick his room first. Of course he chose the smallest room, because that was Sam and he was a considerate kid like that. John was tougher on Sam, in terms of misbehavior or being safe, while he let Dean practically do whatever he wanted as long he didn’t neglect looking after Sam when John was working. It was the little things, like how Sam got to pick where they ordered take-out nine out of ten times or how John would take Sam to work with him sometimes so he could sit in the fire engine or slide down the pole. The little things that Dean noticed throughout the years that made him come to a vague understanding that their father wanted what was best for Sam. Anything he could do for Sam, he’d do it. And Dean was fine with it. He wanted the same for Sam, he wanted to give his brother everything he could, however little that was. He didn’t blame his father for favoring his younger brother. Dean was a less than the ideal son, always getting in trouble, not nearly as smart as Sam. That’s how it worked. Dean watched over Sam so Sam could succeed. That’s all Dean had ever wanted.

“Dean?” Sam said.

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, yeah sure, I guess. What is it?”

“What do you wanna do when you graduate?” Dean turned to Sam who was looking up at him with curious eyes.

“Uh, I dunno, probably just work at the shop. Why?” Sam shrugged and turned his attention forward again.

“You don’t want to do anything else? Like go to college or something?” Dean snorted.

“Ha, that’s a good one Sammy, but we both know that you got the brains kiddo.” Dean smiled and shook his head.

“Well then what did you get?” Dean stopped smiling and looked at Sam who was staring up at him again. The confusion and anger that wove its way through Sam’s face made Dean look away. He didn’t want to have this conversation now. It was too early and too damn cold.

“I got your sorry ass to look after, that’s what I got,” Dean said playfully, shoving Sam lightly. Sam didn’t look convinced and so Dean changed the subject.

“How’s school going for you anyways?” he asked. Sam continued to glare at Dean, but after a moment he shrugged.

“Fine, I guess.”

“Fine, you _guess_? Knowing you kid, you probably got straight A’s or some shit like that.” Dean said, ruffling Sam’s hair affectionately. Sam batted his hand away looking disgruntled.

“You’re smart too Dean.” he muttered, taking Dean aback slightly.

“Not like you Sammy,” Sam opened his mouth to protest but the school was coming into view so Dean pushed Sam forward, smiling. “Go on, you’re going to be late.” he said. Sam looked back at him and frowned.

“What about you? Aren’t you going to be late too?” Dean rolled his eyes and shoved Sam again.

“Don’t worry about me Sam, just go. I’ll be fine.” Sam rolled his eyes, but started jogging toward the entrance of the school. The first bell rang and Dean watched as Sam met up with his friends near the entrance and go in together. Dean took his time, thinking Sam’s words over. _You’re smart too Dean._ Dean snorted and shook his head. Sam was going to go to college, be someone. Dean was going to stay here, make sure their dad didn’t drink himself into a coma and ate properly. Whether or not he was smart, that was always how it was going to play out. That’s how it was supposed to work and it would never change.

 

Dean had work after school, to which he walked to. The garage wasn’t that far from Truman, probably about mile. It was a dingy little place, located within a scrap yard on the edge of town. Bobby, the owner and a family friend, gave Dean a job cleaning up around the place when he was fourteen. By then he already knew how to fix just about any car that he came across but Bobby wouldn’t let him near the cars for about two years because he said nobody wanted some kid working on their car. Dean guessed that was true, but it still hurt. He was plenty qualified, learned everything from his father who was a mechanic before he became a firefighter. But Dean respected Bobby and did as he was told. When he was sixteen, Bobby starting trusting Dean with oil changes and simple things like that, to which he eventually worked his way up to more complex jobs that actually involved fixing the cars. Now, at eighteen, Dean worked part-time as one of Bobby’s main mechanics. When he graduated, he would go full-time. He wanted to just leave school and start now, but Bobby said no high school diploma, no job, and so Dean was stuck in school for another few months until that blessed day of freedom arrived.

As Dean changed into his coveralls, Ash walked in with a grin on his face as he pulled out his own coveralls from his locker. Ash worked in the back room and took care of all the computer stuff. He occasionally, if they were short handed, did an oil change or swept up, but mainly, he worked with the computers. Bobby had hired him a year ago after Dean had recommended him and although he would never admit it, thought that Ash was a godsend. He could do things with that computer that Bobby or Dean could never even dream of doing. Bobby had been struggling with keeping client information readily at hand or financial records in order. When Ash started working there, Bobby’s records had never been more organized. Ash had a way with a computer like no one else Dean knew and that’s mainly the reason he told Bobby about him.

“What’re you so happy about?” Dean asked, buttoning the last of the buttons, watching as Ash practically swaggered over to Dean.

“My friend, today, has been a glorious day.” Ash said. Dean raised an eyebrow.

“And why is that?”

“Because Dean, I managed to convince Cecelia Carmichael to let me tutor her in math,” Ash raised his arms in triumph and that made Dean chuckle and shake his head. “Bow before me Winchester, for I am your new god.”

“Dude, you’re just tutoring her, in math. It’s not like you’re tutoring her in biology or something. If that were the case, then I might be impressed.” Ash was shaking his head at Dean like he was a naive little child.

“Dean, _Dean_ , you don’t get it do you?”

“Clearly not.”

“This isn’t just your ordinary tutoring we’re talking about here. I’m talking, _private_ tutoring, Friday nights, _at her house_ ,” Ash said, wagging his eyebrows. Dean rolled his eyes. “And, on top of that, her parents go out every Friday night on date night, so we’ll have the house _all to ourselves_ ,” Ash raised his arms again and nodded his head self approvingly. “I’m good.”

“Yeah, you’re good man.” Dean admitted, shaking his head.

“Better than you even.” Dean held up his hands and raised his hands.

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down their cowboy, you’re good, but you ain’t that good.” Dean said. Ash scoffed.

“Says the guy who couldn’t even make it to the closet without getting his ass knocked to the ground Friday night.” Dean’s face darkened some.

“Wait, you saw that?”

“Hell yeah I saw that. And that little blondie was cute too, a real shame Winchester.” Ash said, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“Hey, hey, hold up. Where the fuck were you when that happened, huh? You were supposed to have my back.” Dean demanded.

“Hey look now, don’t bla-”

“No, no, you were supposed to drive me home afterwards too. Where were you then?”

“I was just as smashed as you Dean, you really think I could’ve drove you home?”

“No, but you could’ve been there beside me, helping me out. I had to have some weird guy in a BMW drive me home.” Ash raised his eyebrow at that.

“Well, that ain’t my fault. I had to walk home, at least you got a ride.”

“But you were my ride man! I could’ve got like, date raped or some shit like that!”

“Dude, don’t-”

“Are you boys done bickering like a pair of old ladies cause I gotta business to run,” Bobby called from the front office. Dean glared at Ash who held up his hands defensively. “Well?”

“We’re coming.” Dean called back, making his way to the door as Ash finished buttoning his coveralls. Bobby standing in the entrance of the office with his arms crossed glaring at Dean.

“Are you done or do I need to give you ladies a few more minutes to sort out your feelings?” Bobby asked to which Dean ignored and walked out of the office and into the main garage.

“Who’s first?” Dean asked as he picked up one of the clipboards to look over the appointments. Bobby took the clipboard out of his hand and pointed to a silver BMW parked in the spot at the end.

“You’re on oil change duty today.” Bobby said, looking over the clipboard himself.

“What, why?” Dean demanded. He only changed oil when he was in trouble or when things were really busy and they sure as hell weren’t busy. There was a total of three cars in the garage that day.

“Because, now quit wasting more of my time and get to work boy.” Bobby turned away and started walking towards a blue Toyota corolla, leaving Dean to fume silently. _Damn Ash,_ he thought bitterly as he made his way over to the BMW. The window was down but Dean couldn’t see the driver because he rummaging around in the backseat of the car for something.

“Hi there, just an oil change today sir?” Dean asked.

“Uh, yes, I think-” The driver turned his attention to Dean and when they made eye contact Dean felt a shock of familiarity run through him. Then it clicked; the silver BMW, the deep voice, this was the guy that had driven him home on Friday. A wave of sick embarrassment washed through Dean as the guy gaped at him. He didn’t exactly remember what happened that night, but he was damn sure he had made a fool of himself. He had spent the whole weekend trying to forget about it altogether, but then arguing with Ash and now this, the memories flooded back and made Dean feel nauseous.

“Dean, right?” The guy asked. He opened the car door and stepped out. He was wearing khakis and a dark blue sweater vest with the a white button up underneath. A crest of some sort was sewn into the vest at the top left of corner and Dean knew instantly that the guy was from St. Francis, the private Catholic school not too far from here. _Damn rich kid,_ Dean thought angrily. Surely there was other places he could’ve gone? Why here?

“Yeah. And you are?” Dean knew his tone was rude and that he should be more professional, but he really didn’t care right then. He didn’t like this guy, regardless of the fact that he drove him home instead of leaving him to lay in his own vomit. He didn’t belong here and he brought up bad memories.

The guy looked confused as this for a moment, frowning.

“You don’t remember?” Dean drew his eyebrows together and shrugged, irritated. The guy nodded understanding. “Of course you don’t. The circumstances under which we met were hardly ideal, given the fact that you were-”

“Are you going to tell me your name or what?” Dean snapped, crossing his arms. The guy’s frown deepened.

“Of course. Castiel. My name is Castiel Novak.” Dean nodded once and walked around to the front of the car.

“Okay, _Castiel_ ,” Dean practically sneered the name. “Can you pop the hood for me please?”

“Oh, yes, here.” The lid popped open a little and Dean fit his hands under the lip to unlatch it before raising it all the way and propping it. He grabbed a rag from the one of the station’s and held it in his left hand as he pulled out the dipstick and wiped off the excess oil to examine the levels and cleanliness of it. It was low and extremely dirty, completely black.

“When was the last time you had this changed?” Dean asked, shaking his head as fitted the stick back in the placed. Castiel frowned thinking.

“I don’t really remember to be honest. It’s been a while.” Dean snorted at that.

“Yeah, that’s for sure. Alright, well, it shouldn’t take too long to get everything in order. You want synthetic or regular?” Dean asked, looking up. Castiel looked as if Dean had asked him to do a double backflip into a tank of sharks.

“Uh, whatever’s easiest?” Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.

“How about synthetic? It costs more, but it’ll save you money in the long run.” Castiel nodded slowly.

“Very well, that’s fine with me.”

“Any preference to what kind of filter?” Castiel swallowed visibly. He was out of his element and Dean enjoyed watching the bastard squirm.

“Uh, no. No, do what you please. I trust your judgement.” Castiel said sincerely, catching Dean offguard.

“Okay, well, I’m going to get started now, if you could go wait in the office for me.” Dean said, going over to get the jack.

“I can’t watch?” Dean stopped and slowly turned back to Castiel who was still standing where he was. Dean’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Uh, no?” Castiel frowned. _Why the hell would he want to watch me change his goddamn oil?_ Dean knew this guy was weird, but this was just straight up creepy.

“Ah, okay then, I’ll just, uh, wait in the office.” Castiel turned away quickly and started making his way toward the front office. Dean could swear the guy was blushing. He was glad when he gone.

“Alright,” Dean muttered to himself. “Let’s get this over with.”      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, wow, I am so sorry this took so long. But I wanted it to be perfect and I think it's damn near close so here you are. The next chapter will certainly have more interactions between Dean and Castiel. No sex until way later, but just you wait, it'll be good I promise. I'm taking a human sexuality class and let me tell you, I'm learning A LOT. Trust me, it'll be worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so, I originally got the idea for this fic months ago but never really got around to writing it until now. I just thought, 'hey, i don't see too many catholic school au's. i need that shit in my life'. And since I really hate actually searching for specific kinds of fics that I want, I just decided to write it. There were many starts, all of which I absolutely despised. But then I was listening to 'I Can See An Angel' by Patsy Cline and I got like this sudden burst of inspiration and so each chapter will be named after a lyric in that song because it just fits so perfectly with what I want to write. (Y'all should go an listen to that song, it's fantastic) Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed it. I don't know how often I'll update because I'm in school or I just may not be feeling in the mood to write. Either way, be patient with me. It's taken me a while to start this, it'll take me a while to finish it.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> (Psst, also, if there are any typos or errors of any kind I am so sorry. I only had one other person edit besides me and I kind of just wanted to get it out there so if you see any, please let me know and i'll try to go back and fix it okay bye)


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